Sharing a cig on the traumatized, unpacked boxes—
Pinch to pinch—is the most intimate act I know. I could not be
More or less than a friend. They have hazed me, & you
See it judging by your eyes & soft voice. You turn on
All the spigots that are running in the eggshell skull of my magical thinking.
But your birth-written, adamant smarts ask the practical questions.
Does this have anything to do with a raise in maintenance fees?
Do you think you could start with unpacking just a couple
Of your journals today & put them on the shelf?
It would be a start, & it would make her so happy to come home.
I thought I had washed a clandestine agent’s love away in this life.
When you called me “a turd” it hurt.
I thought…I thought…but you think. You were
The brilliant go-getter of this murmuring & deficient heart.